


Sky Full of Stars

by lajulie



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Diplomacy, F/M, Fashion & Couture, Post-Star Wars: Return of the Jedi, Sabacc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 11:20:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21968470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lajulie/pseuds/lajulie
Summary: Their respective duties to the fledgling New Republic have been keeping Han and Leia literally worlds apart for the last few months. With a little diplomacy, a little sabacc, and a little help from a friend with an eye for fashion, Leia's got a plan to bring them back together--and Han realizes how much closer they were than he'd thought.Written for the Attack of the Clothes A Prompt By Another Name Fanworks Anthology (@attackoftheclothes on Tumblr), with the clothing prompts featured here:43 - Gambler's Paradise.
Relationships: Leia Organa/Han Solo
Comments: 18
Kudos: 60





	Sky Full of Stars

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to @otterandterrier for her beta work and encouragement, and to the mods with @attackoftheclothes for their work putting together the prompts and anthology.

It didn’t take long for Han to spot her, even across the crowded ballroom. His instincts were still sharp, his eyes still well accustomed to scanning the room until her figure came into view.

_Leia._

There she was, working her magic, engaged in a conversation with two distinguished-looking humans and one Devaronian in diplomatic dress. They towered above her in height, but Leia was more than holding her own, clearly impressing the trio, whom Han recognized as the ambassadors from three systems that had recently joined the New Republic.

A bolt of something ripped through him—jealousy, or possession, or some primal, unbidden thought of the kind he’d thought he’d gotten over by now. _You’re at the wrong party, Solo. You don’t belong here, with her_. _Who in nine hells you think you are?_

He pushed those thoughts away; he knew Leia didn’t think that, had told him as much. _But still…_

He tried to ignore the way his dress uniform chafed against the back of his neck as he strode across the floor. This is why he hated wearing the damned thing, donned his spacer’s garb at every opportunity, even on the _Mon Remonda_. He’d worn it tonight, though, for her.

He quickened his step, his stride purposeful enough to encourage most guests to let him by with no more than a nod or an offhand greeting. This ball was the first chance he’d had to see Leia in person in months, and it was taking most of his personal willpower to avoid breaking into a run.

“General Solo!”

 _Damn_. He’d managed to skirt Ackbar’s aides, avoid getting sucked into a discussion with Crix Madine, give a polite nod to Senator Naberrie as he passed. But Jan Dodonna had caught him and apparently wanted to—chat? That was odd. Jan normally avoided Han like the plague these days.

“General,” Han acknowledged. He managed to keep his attention on Dodonna while his peripheral vision scanned for any movement from Leia’s corner of the room. Sometimes those old smuggler instincts came in handy.

Dodonna grabbed Han’s hand and shook it vigorously. “Helluva job you’re doing out there, General. Heard about the _Iron Fist_. I knew you were the one to lead the task force.” The general was a good guy at heart, Han knew that, but he was rarely this generous with praise with anyone, much less Han. Han almost felt like he should be suspicious.

Scratch that, he _was_ suspicious.

But somewhere he’d apparently picked up some manners. “’Preciate that, General. Helps when you have a good crew,” he replied, before stealing a glance to the back corner of the room again.

 _Damn it._ He could still see the Devaronian ambassador, but Leia had disappeared from the group.

Jan launched into a discussion of the various squadrons under Han’s command and how other commands were taking a cue from some of the methods they’d used to corner Zsinj. Han found himself in the odd position of simultaneously wanting to indulge this conversation further and wanting to leave immediately. Why exactly had Jan Dodonna suddenly decided to become his new best friend?

He was on the verge of formulating an excuse to escape when he felt a hand on the small of his back.

“General,” said a familiar voice. “You made it.”

Gods, he’d missed her. “Wouldn’t miss it,” he said, turning to her with a grin. “Princess.”

For a moment, he just looked at her as she smiled at him. How in nine hells he’d ended up so lucky as to get that look from her, he’d never know, but maybe it was best not to question that. There was her smile, the real smile, and those kaffe-colored eyes that saw everything, that held so much love and heartache and bravery and goodness in their depths.

Leia finally turned to acknowledge Dodonna. “Jan,” she said, “I need to borrow General Solo for a minute. You don’t mind, do you?” And before Dodonna could answer, she had successfully hustled Han away from him and in the general direction of the bar.

Diplomatic skills came in rather handy at times, as well.

“Do you want a drink?” Leia asked, but she didn’t slow down as they neared the bar. Her hand was in his, gently tugging him forward toward the edge of the ballroom.

“No,” he said, chuckling at how her pace accelerated at his answer. Not that he was complaining.

She led him to a small alcove off the main room, and Han had a sudden flash of them together on a long-ago mission, dashing into a quiet corner to hide out from the Imperials. Han grinned at the memory, and at her. Here. Finally.

She grinned back, the corners of her eyes crinkling up in that way he loved.

 _Hells, what am I waiting for?_ He swept Leia into his arms and kissed her in a single motion, and as she met his passion with hers, he threw away any spare fucks he had to give about this damned party, this scratchy-ass uniform, that nosy general, and anything else that wasn’t Leia Organa and the way that she loved him.

Their lips parted after a few minutes, but Han kept her in his arms, his kisses moving to behind her ear, then continuing down her neck.

“I guess you did miss me,” she said, with a soft chuckle Han could feel rumbling in her chest. Her skin had a slight flush to it now, and the chuckle turned to a slight shudder as Han hit what he knew to be a sensitive spot.

“Little bit,” he teased, pausing his journey up her neck to give her a glance, only to have his resolve to keep up their banter crumble upon meeting her eyes.

He rose up, his hands coming up from her shoulders to cup her cheeks. “Sweetheart,” he said, “you don’t even know—“

She pulled him back to her lips, and while this kiss was no less passionate, it was slower, deeper, more tender. When they paused, Han was surprised to see that Leia’s eyes were wet.

She blinked a few times. “I’m sorry, I—“

“Nothing to be sorry about,” he said softly. “You miss me too, huh?”

She smiled, wiping away a tear with the back of her hand. “Little bit, yeah. Three months is a long time.”

“You’re tellin’ me.” He gave her waist a quick squeeze. “Wanna get out of here?”

Leia took a deep breath, drawing herself up taller and pulling away to smooth her dress. “Want? Yes. Desperately. But unfortunately, I need to stay.”

Han grimaced slightly. “Back to work, eh?”

Leia nodded, but took his hand. “Keep me company?”

“Sure.”

* * *

To be honest, half the point of joining up with the Alliance officially had been to be with Leia, to show her his commitment to her and the cause she believed in. But despite the worst of the war now behind them, Han and Leia had spent most of the last year in different star systems, often halfway across the galaxy from each other.

It sucked.

And last night hadn’t sucked, exactly, but swanning around a ballroom making nice with diplomats wasn’t exactly Han’s _thing_. The conversations sometimes felt like the script of a bad holodrama, with someone talking about their summer home on Cantonica or how the beaches of Iloh were _simply magnificent, you really must go_. The battles with Zsinj did give him something to talk about, but he’d had to tread carefully with that, to avoid giving away military secrets or inadvertently causing a diplomatic incident.

 _I_ am _a diplomatic incident_ , he’d cracked to Leia under his breath, and that at least that had gotten him a laugh and a squeeze from her hand.

He’d spent most of the rest of the evening witnessing her at work. Much as he liked to make fun of diplomacy, and as ridiculous as some of the conversations he’d overheard were, there was a definite art to the way Leia worked with people, and Han admired it almost as much as her prowess with a blaster. Almost.

So as disappointed as he was to feel her slip out of his arms early this morning to answer an urgent comm— _Gods_ , was he disappointed—he wasn’t exactly surprised.

Eyes still closed, he turned over onto his stomach and listened to Leia’s voice in the next room. He could only hear bits of the conversation, names, times. _Thanium sector. Two days. Recruitment mission._

Han groaned. _Damnit_. They’d barely been in the same system for half a standard day, and Leia was getting ready to leave again.

“Of course, Ambassador. And thank you again for arranging it,” he could hear her saying, wrapping up.

Han opened his eyes and sat up slowly. They were in Leia’s quarters, an apartment in the old senatorial sector of Coruscant that had been issued her when she’d accepted this appointment from the New Republic. It was huge, and felt ridiculous, especially compared to the _Falcon_ or any of the spots on the old Rebel bases. But the bedroom was airy and bright, and Leia was here, so Han didn’t much mind where they stayed.

A kaffe smell drifted in from the kitchen, and Han was about to get up to follow it when Leia entered, a mug in each hand. Han was rather shocked to find that she was still dressed in one of his old shirts, her hair pulled into a messy bun.

“Ah, you’re up,” she said, handing him one of the mugs.

Han was still gaping. “You take a holocall from work lookin’ like that?”

“Audio only,” she said, and took a sip of kaffe. “New orders.”

Han sighed and took a long drink of kaffe. “Thanium sector, eh? How long before you have to leave?”

Leia sat down on the bed, the corners of her mouth rising in a sly smile. “Not just me, flyboy. _We_ have new orders.”

* * *

He honestly wasn’t sure how she’d managed it. Not only had Leia gotten him out of an assignment in the Western Reaches that Dodonna had apparently had in mind, she’d managed to create a new diplomatic mission for the both of them, adding Han on the basis of his “special skills.”

Specifically, sabacc.

“Elerion may be interested in joining the New Republic,” Leia explained, “but they don’t trust the traditional diplomatic process.”

“’Course not,” agreed Han. “The Empire screwed ‘em over too many times.” Elerion’s capital, Kushal Vogh, was home to the Lucky Star Casino, once the most lucrative casino in the galaxy. Until a series of Imperial Governors and other muckety-mucks had decided that they deserved VIP status and had practically bled the casino dry. It was still there, but a shadow of its former self.

“We’ve been trying for months through diplomatic channels, but they will barely communicate enough to say ‘no.’ Completely closed up. But my new friend from Devaron just happens to know about a private sabacc game on Elerion—“

Han recalled the conversation he’d witnessed upon his arrival last night. Damn, she was good.

“And we’ve been invited to join. The Elerion ambassador will likely be there too, as a guest.” She got that satisfied look she used to get on missions, when she’d figured out exactly how they were going to get in.

“I may have let it slip that my current _paramour_ —“ the current favorite term for Han among the gossip holos—“is a skilled player, and that I’ve been known to play a hand or two myself,” she continued.

Han snorted. _A hand or two_ —after they’d played en route to Bespin, Leia could completely smoke the Rogues and just about anyone else in sabacc, if she were so inclined.

“And if all goes well—“

“You make nice with the Elerions, they fall in love with you, and I have to kidnap you to another system before I lose you forever,” Han finished.

Leia shook her head, smiling at him. “So close, nerf herder.”

“Hey, I’m your ticket to the heart of the Elerions. Your diplomatic envoy. How ‘bout a little respect?” he teased.

He settled for a kiss.

* * *

Trapped in a high-end men’s boutique, surrounded by fine fabrics, Han was starting to wish he’d held out for a bit more. He was even starting to miss his scratchy New Republic dress uniform right about now.

And worse, Leia had called for reinforcements.

“Princess, I can’t thank you enough,” Lando Calrissian chuckled, as the two of them sipped champagne and watched a tailor droid take Han’s measurements. “I’ve been wanting to get this man in a decent damn suit for years.”

“I know,” Leia smiled. “That’s why I knew you were the one to call.”

“Please lift up your arms, sir,” the tailor droid instructed, and Han complied.

“You tricked me,” Han accused, though there wasn’t any real heat in it. He’d already lost this hand. “Ganged up on me.”

“For the good of the mission,” Leia said. “You can’t show up to a private sabacc game in a spacer’s vest and an old pair of bloodstripes.”

“Ooh, a vest,” Lando said to Leia. “Maybe we should look at vests.”

“Nice, but I was thinking of a long jacket like this one,” Leia said, pointing out one of the options on the holoscreen.

“The double-breasted? Oh yes,” Lando agreed. “Did you have thoughts on fabric? The navy blue is lovely.”

“I like the gray and gold, too,” Leia said, pointing at one of the fabric options, “but I think I’m leaning toward this black, with the gold brocade.”

“The matelassé? Oh, yes. Perfect.”

 _The mah-what? Great, now they’re speaking a completely different language_. Han looked over at his friend and his beloved, still caught up in discussing finishes on covered buttons and suit linings and something called a stained glass effect. It was baffling—but he supposed, not much more so than the intricacies of a YT-1300 hyperdrive engine.

“Legs apart, sir,” the tailor droid droned. _Now I’m taking orders from a droid. Yep, definitely lost control of this situation._

 _Still_ —“It’s my outfit, don’t I get to pick?” he protested.

“No,” Lando and Leia answered together.

* * *

_Huh. Not so bad_ , Han thought, surveying himself in the mirror. He’d never be as comfortable as he was in his spacer garb, and it probably wasn’t the kind of thing he’d want to wear every day, but he was marveling a bit at how at ease he felt in the finished suit. This was what he should have been wearing the other night, at the ball.

_Formal balls. Fine tailoring. Diplomacy. What the hells happened to you, Solo?_

He ignored that voice, and went back to admiring his new suit in the mirror. It was bold, yet refined. Stylish and eye-catching, but not gaudy. Didn’t take itself too seriously.

They had gone for the long, double-breasted jacket Leia had liked, fitted through the shoulders and torso and extending down to mid-thigh. The fabric was black with gold brocade sprinkled through, but it was so much more intricate than that. The thing that Lando had called _matelassé_ was a raised sort of stained glass pattern in the fabric, giving the black depth and complexity. The gold brocade was strategically placed, highlighting the wide lapels of the jacket and the pectorals as well as each bend of the arm. A crisp white dress shirt with a bold black collar and lush black velvet pants completed the look.

It was no wonder Leia had picked this out for him. The more he looked at it, the more it felt like—like a _Leia_ kind of suit. Comfortable, yet striking and crisp. The beauty outside and the complexity within, the layers you could see if you looked just a little closer. The details—the subtle angle at which the jacket lay, the way the brocade on either side matched up perfectly, the way the different gradations of black and the curves of gold picked up the light. The pattern of the brocade even made a bit of a nod to traditional Alderaanian patterns, with its peaks and starbursts captured in neat angles.

 _She happened to me_ , Han thought. _I fell in love. And Leia brought me into her world_.

And yet, he was still Han. The suit hadn’t replaced the spacer with a vapid courtier, a faceless prince droning on about where he planned to summer with the rest of the elite. No, Han was still here, he was real. Nebulas and night sky entwining on his lapels, seams constructed by hand like the best of the _Falcon’_ s machinery, cunning and sabacc skills honed on the streets of Coronet City.

“Han?”

Leia appeared in the doorway. Or sparkled, more accurately. Her sheer dress was covered in huge black sequins ( _paillettes_ , she had called them), curtains of beads cascading down her arms and torso, a cluster of gemstones near her heart. She was a galaxy onto herself, darkness and stars spun together like the gateway to the Kessel Run. 

And beaming at him. Her sabacc face was impeccable, but there was no sign of it now.

“You look—amazing,” she said, taking hold of his lapels. The light caught on her sequins, bounced across his chest. “You ready?”

They were constellations, vibrating on the verge of hyperspace. He held her chin in his palm, gently brought her lips to his. 

“Now I am,” he said.


End file.
